


Drifting Away

by rakel



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Crossover, Mind Meld, Monsters, Robots, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakel/pseuds/rakel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn't mean for any of this to happen. As usual, the world doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting Away

**Author's Note:**

> Ratings and tags will be updated.

The sophomores of Beacon Hills High are on an excursion to San Francisco, as part of their history course, to visit a newly erected museum funded by the Pan Pacific Defense Corps.

It’s early afternoon and they’ve only just acquainted themselves with the massive, overly air-conditioned hall that takes up most of the building. The two halves of the room are dedicated to either depicting the construction and usage of the Jaegers, while the other side showcases the little the human race knows about the invaders in a reassuring we-have-this-under-control-kids tone. 

It’s colourful, gaudy and a relief in comparison to the morning’s sightseeing tour through what still remains of the wreckage of an earlier Kaiju attack - the houses and empty lots had been too clean, too new.

Who would've thought the school system would spend twenty years condoning video games, only to write visits to the real world equivalent into the curriculum.

Stiles is over on the Kaiju side, alone, pouring over a list of interesting biological factoids (well, interesting to him - he might have spent the night accidentally reading up on amphibian respiratory systems). Over by the Jaeger displays, some of the hotheads of the class are already loudly talking about their future careers as pilots and how they will end the war single-handedly. Stiles snorts at how quickly some seem to forget the Jaegers have two pilots.

As far as he can tell, the people most likely to become pilots in his class are Ethan and Aiden, the identical twins. They’re biologically and mentally compatible from the get-go, but that’s no guarantee they live up to the physical and psychological requirements. More importantly, they might not be Drift compatible.

Scott walks over, clapping a hand over Stiles' shoulder. “Yo dude, find anything cool?”

“Terrifyingly enough, no.” For all the information covering the flimsy displays, Stiles can’t help but to feel disappointed. There must be research conducted around the clock on the little humankind has salvaged of their enemies, but there’s no mention of it. There’s just the normal statistics, the obvious observations made based upon combat reports.

There are no speculations, theories, predictions. No talk about the future beyond weapon system upgrades.

Scott’s smile falters a bit as he takes a quick look around. The photographs are mostly blurry shapes with indistinct, jagged maws, or taken from such a distance that the size of the Kaiju makes them seem unreal against the surrounding landscape. “Yeah, freaks me out too.”

Stiles glances back over to the other side of the room, where everybody are keeping their backs to the monsters. It’s obviously a slow day, and had there been younger kids around, Stiles doesn’t doubt he would have to fight them to get a closer look at the plastic replicas of the Kaijus.

The time when Kaijus were entertainment is over. Only kids seem to find reasons to appreciate them now.

“Hey, the guide is gonna start up the Drift test, let’s go.”

Stiles shrugs, nods and follows Scott towards the roped off area in the middle of the hall.

Finding people with a rare set of qualities in a planet’s worth of population requires some pragmatism and cheap tricks. The Drift test is one of them. Well, it’s called the Drift test, but according to the little Stiles has read about it, it’s not much more than a toy.

Officially, it’s a diagnostic tool that allows you to mentally attempt to Drift with a simple AI, which is hooked up to a robotic arm. In summary, if you can make the arm move, you are potentially more Drift compatible than the average population.

Find a few people who Drifts easily with an AI, hook a few of them up to each other - et voilà, new sets of pilots. Theoretically speaking. Everybody knows it’s just grasping for straws, a back-up plan funded by the pocket change it needs to keep going.

Excursions like this one are free solely for the opportunity to put thousands of kids through the Drift test. It’s a smart trick. The few who pass the test will likely seek out further testing and training on their own, just for the social status of being considered a Jaeger pilot candidate, however briefly.

The actual equipment is just a cushioned chair and a low podium where the “robot” sits inactive. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if the arm is the cheapest they could find. It looks like it was scavenged from a car factory and given a new coat of paint. With spray cans.

The guide, dressed in a dark pant suit that just makes her look younger, claps her hands and calls for silence, before she unhooks the satin rope encircling the test equipment with theatrical flourish (another piece of evidence that the equipment doesn’t cost much more than what can be easily replaced). A queue quickly and loudly forms at the presented opening.

The entire class gets sucked into it, Stiles dragged along by Scott. Even the middle-aged teacher sheepishly joins, making sure to stand last. Stiles wouldn’t say he doesn’t want to take the test, because the technology is amazing - _you hook your brain directly to a computer_ \- but there are toys in the world he has easier access to that are more entertaining than failing to make a robot arm move. The laptop on his desk at home, for instance.

Still, as most of them reason, might as well give it a shot. There are of course those who are a bit more invested in the results of the test than others: Jackson has managed to get himself to the very beginning of the queue, Lydia under his arm and Danny in tow.

The guide fiddles around a display on the podium for a moment, and there are a few gasps when the robotic arm suddenly moves out of its slump into a standby position. Blue LED lights light up on both the podium and the chair, but the center of attention is the helmet on the chair. It glows a faint red that reflects off its own silvery surface, it’s form itself an echo of the circuitry of computers. Jackson almost steps forward, but instead clutches Lydia closer to himself and puts his mouth to her ear. After a moment, she giggles and playfully pushes him off of her and walks up to the chair, hips swaying. Before the guide can help her out, she has picked up the helmet and sat down.

Stiles sighs slow and long and throws Scott a glance. He gets an answering shrug. As far as they can tell, Jackson sent up Lydia so he can let some kind of tension build before his own attempt. He probably assumes she will fail, giving the rest of the class something to compare to his certain success.

Stiles generally avoids thinking about what the hell Lydia possibly sees in him.

Still ignoring the bejesus out of the increasingly flustered guide, Lydia raises the helmet above her head and seems to struggle for a moment with how she should let it fall on her hair. Then she puts it on, and clips the strap into place under her chin. She smiles at Jackson before she crosses her legs, and rests her chin on top of a finely manicured hand. Her gaze rests on the robotic arm, but despite the small smile that adorns her features, Stiles just thinks she looks profoundly bored.

Far from the first time, he wishes she would look up, look at him, just for a moment, so she could see that he _sees her_ , he _knows-_

“Now then!” the guide calls out. “Let the first of today’s tests begin!” The guide presses a button on the screen on the podium and steps back from it. A soft signal chimes throughout the room. Every pair of eyes that weren't on the robotic arm snaps to it. All except Stiles’. Scott notices and blinks at Stiles for a second, but turns back to the robot. There’s nothing to say.

Half a minute later, the robotic arm is still in the same position.

Some in the audience sigh in disappointment as they give up hope and realize the following tests will be a similar cocktail of increasingly lukewarm disappointment. A few people break away from the crowd, turning their attention back to the rest of the exhibition. The guide finally declares the test unsuccessful, her tone apologetic but cheery, as if another attempt could maybe end differently.

Something tells Stiles it’s not impossible. It’s nothing easily detectable, but during the entire test, Lydia’s eyes were narrower, her posture more rigid. Sure, it could be that she was just focusing on making the arm move, but what if-

What if she was-

Before Stiles can complete the thought or Lydia has had much of a chance to move, Jackson bounds up to her. There is an inappropriate amount of PDA as the headpiece passes from her to him, and Stiles just really, _really_ doesn’t get it. Scott sighs beside him. “I sort of wanted her to do it.” They both snicker at the thought of Jackson’s reaction.

“You want to go check out the displays some more while Jackson pops a vessel?” Scott quips, barely restraining his own laughter. Stiles crows in surprised delight.

“Oh wow, if you put it like that I might just want to stay and watch. I’m proud of you, really.” He throws an arm around Scott’s shoulders and squeezes. “But you have a point. Jackson might be a snake, but he is no Kaiju.”

“No dude, come on, let’s check out the Jaegers. I don’t want to go home and have nightmares.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Stiles exhales, and manoeuvres them both around to walk towards the Jaeger displays.

“I really don’t get your thing with Kaiju,” Scott laughs, but it’s indulgent, happy.

“It’s not a _thing_ ,” he sighs. “It’s just, everyone is so focused on the Jaegers. But we’re the ones who built them, we know _everything_ about them.”

“We don’t know everything about the Drift,” Scott interjects.

“Dude, yes, exactly, we don’t know everything about it, and people just don’t talk about it! We just think ‘it’s there, it works’ and nobody bothers to ask any questions! Like, we’re supposed to be fighting the Kaijus so shouldn’t we know _how to do it?_ ” Scott nods along, humming in agreement.

They finally come across an unfamiliar corner of the exhibition. It’s a massive display of the latest generation of Jaegers that still haven’t seen combat, being either newly constructed or still in the planning stages. Pictures and drafts spill out over square meters of wall. Stiles quickly scans the text for a date and finds that the information on the board is only about two weeks old. Which should be less surprising than it is. The museum smells weirdly like a new car and the fitted carpet is still springy beneath their feet.

And the whole thing might need to be rebuilt before the information grows obsolete.

The Jaeger that towers in front of him on the canvas is a purple, sleek thing. Every edge on it looks sharp and serrated. A small picture beside it depicts its pilots - a man and a woman, clearly siblings close in age, if not twins. They both have dark hair and pale, symmetrical faces.

The roar of almost forty people’s surprise explodes. Stiles whips around, only seeing glimpses of the crowd between display cases and pillars. They’re all still turned towards the Drift test.

“Oh my god.” He stumbles over to Scott, not looking away from the crowd. “Dude, I think Jackson did it.” When he gets no reaction, he turns to Scott.

He’s staring at the section of the wall that’s solely dedicated to new pilots. He seems particularly focused on a picture of two women of the same build, but different height and hair colour. The taller woman smiles self-assuredly towards the camera, her blond locks cascading over broad shoulder. The shorter woman’s smile is more timid, but warmer. They’re wearing their suits, and their postures are proud. Stiles briefly wonders how they are connected - the text image reveals they are aunt and niece, but called the “the Argent sisters” as a team.

The niece is an Olympic ranked archer, and 17 years old. One year older.

“Can you imagine,” Scott sighs, “being like them. Doing something amazing. And everyone knows about you.”

Stiles scoffs. “I imagine getting laid a lot. All of these people are unreasonably hot.” He tries to encompass the pictures of the pilots with a loose gesture. “The Drift is strong in this one, have a complimentary box of condoms. Hey, dude, if you become a pilot, could we at least make out?”

Scott smiles and shoves at Stiles, an expected reaction to an old joke, and something inside Stiles relaxes. “When Jackson is done strutting, you should take the test.”

Scott looks at him for a second, strangely hopeful. “Yeah,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets, “I think I will.”

They walk back to check out the commotion. It seems indeed that Jackson has successfully passed the test; he’s still lounging in the chair, while the robot arm traces slow eights in the air. The hydraulics are a clearly audible _whir_ over the awed voices in the room. A fair deal of the spectators, including the guide, stand in shocked silence with their mouth open.

The queue has come undone, so Stiles takes the chance to shove Scott up to the very front of it with a minimum of bruised ribs and evil eyes. When Jackson finally deigns to support his own weight and greet the mere mortals on the floor with one of the smuggest and simultaneously relieved faces Stiles have ever seen, Scott is able to steal past him to the test chair and put on the helmet. He then flashes Stiles a thumbs-up.

It’s easy to make it over to the podium without being noticed. The guide isn’t two meters away, but apparently catatonic over having one of the no doubt hundreds of tests she’s done get a positive result. Being a museum tour guide is probably not a very exciting job.

Thankfully, the touch screen that controls the test has large, user-friendly buttons. Stiles hits the one labelled START in the lower right corner of the screen, and the signal that signifies the start of the test rings out. In the corner of his eye, Stiles sees the guide turn to him, exclaiming in surprise. He ignores her in favour of grinning at Scott over their success.

Scott’s eyes are wide and bright with something that shouldn’t make Stiles’ smile fall.

The robot arm jerks to life not inches from his face.

Before the guide reaches him, it turns with such speed Stiles can’t get out of the way before it hits him across his cheek. Lacrosse balls have nothing on the impact.

At least Scott’s cries of his name sound concerned. Must've been an accident.

He sags to the floor, unconscious.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't given up on this story, but I can promise there won't be any prompt updates. Feel free to throw suggestions at me.


End file.
